The Love Club
by NotsoSugarQueen
Summary: It was easier to give in to the stereotype. For the first time the weight of the expectations was gone. All I had to be was a pretty face, caked in make-up, and a voice laced with lies. And the girl that I can sometimes remember being, the one who played piano and cared about grades, was dead and buried inside, locked up so tight I didn't think I could ever get her back. Until now.
1. Chapter 1

**The Love Club-**

**A.N.: So I really needed to write this. Like, badly. It's not going to be a main priority, but I was listening to this song, and it just went so well with Drew. And all the stories and hate that she gets is sucky, but her character in Lost Hero deserves it. But no one really delves into Drew Tananka beyond that bitchfest with Piper over Jason. So I decided to give her a story. Here goes nothing. **

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned PJO, because if I did, I'd know if Percy and Annabeth are okay!**

Preface: Drew's Perspective

There are times in my life when I think of how things may have been different. It's always late, and I'm always struck by insomnia, staring up at the posters of mortal celebrities and fashion designers that paper my bunk in the Aphrodite Cabin. Cabin Ten. The cabin that for a period of time was mine.

I'm not jealous, not anymore. Not really.

But no one needs to know that.

Because when it comes down to it, am I anything more than a pretty, make-up caked face among hundreds? I'm that bitch that hooked up with the jock in the janitor's closet. The one who wears short skirts and Gucci heels and could care less about her grade in Algebra.

Yeah. You know her.

The saddest part is, I don't even know if I want to be that girl. But I've been her for so long, I don't think I know how to be anyone else. It's like I was invited to a masked ball—but the invitations came in the form of flashing lights, parties, cute guys and designer clothes. I wanted to be pretty. I wanted to be popular. But now the ball is over. And problem is, I can't take the mask off.

So while I'm laying there, in my silky Paris nightgown, my sleeping mask pushed back from my eyes, staring at the ceiling, I wonder what it would've been like if Aphrodite hadn't been my mom. Because the problem with Cabin Ten, is the stereotyping you receive. And after awhile, I forgot about that girl I used to be, the one who played piano and kept her make-up down to a swipe of lip gloss and some mascara. The one who owned one pair of heels, and didn't drench herself in Chanel perfume everyday.

She's gone now, dead and buried somewhere inside my soul, locked up so tightly I don't think I could ever get her out again. Because it was easier to give up fighting, to blend in with the crowd. Why bother trying? It was easier to succumb to being a walking, talking Barbie doll because I didn't have to get good grades, or get first place at a piano competition or be nice. I could be what everyone expected me to be.

A bitch.

And no one really cares.

And that's what I always thought.

How wrong I was.

**That was the preface. Interesting? Well, keep on reading, please! If you haven't check out some of my other stories if you will! I'm going to update ****Roadtrip!**** and ****What to Expect When You're Expecting: Demigod Edition**** soon, so keep an eye out for the new chapters! I'm suffering a teensy bit of writer's block at the moment, but I'm hoping I can squeeze in one or the other this weekend, and then the opposite one the weekend after. But my Nutcracker rehearsals are starting, and I have a solo (if you're curious, look up Arabian nutcracker dance, and I'll be doing a less complicated version of the super professional one, since, sadly, there's no one to carry me around the stage on their shoulder) so I'll be in time crunches to get all this stuff done. But I promise to try my best to make it happen. Please review, and love you all!**

**Xoxo-notsoSugarQueen**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.: so this is the first chapter, and I posted it along with the preface, so there's not a lot to say…**

**Disclaimer: no, as I said in the preface, I DON'T OWN PJO!**

One: Drew's Perspective

Mornings in Cabin Ten are hell.

To give you a better picture, it's a ton of people scrambling around, trying on different outfits, cleaning up their bunks so their comforter is wrinkle-free, and elbowing each other out of the way to get a spot near the mirrors in the bathroom.

But I've long since adjusted.

I push my sleeping mask back from my face and tuck it under my pillow. It was mid-October, and the crisp fall air had leaked in through the windows, causing my skin to erupt in goose bumps when I threw back my sugary pink and black polka dot twin bedspread. I gave my poster of Hunter Hayes a quick smile before clambering out of my bunk. Below me, my sister Carrie is still sleeping, snoring a little. I can't help but think she must be getting close to her time of the month, because her face is breaking out.

I drag my trunk out from beneath our bunks and sift through the orderly piles of clothes, opting for a pair of designer jeans and a lilac colored silky top with a v neckline that plunged. Thank the gods for Victoria's Secret t-shirt bras. The worked like a charm for shirts like these.

Pushing my way past Mitchell, I dashed into the bathroom and snatched up an empty stall. I'd showered last night, so I didn't need to this morning, but I was going to need to straighten my hair. Otherwise, these beach waves were not going to cut it.

I exchanged my nightie for the clothes I selected and emerged, tucking my pajamas back in my trunk and gave a now awake Hannah a little shove for some extra room at the bathroom counter. I needed a lot of room for my make-up time. It took about thirty minutes to do my face, but the result was worth it. Smooth, poreless skin, no blemishes, with a slight flush to the cheeks. Glossy lips, a light brown smoky eyes and a thin, perfect line of liquid liner before I took an eyelash curler to my lashes and coated them with mascara.

And after that… hair. Methodically, I divided my hair into sections and flattened out any resistance with a flat iron set on three hundred degrees. My hair was dark, dark brown, nearly black, and thick, but not to resistant to straightening, thank the gods. Otherwise, it would've taken a lot longer to do my hair. When that was done, I pinned some of it back from my face and grouped the rest into an artful low bun at the nape of my neck that looked chic and effortless.

I looked at myself in the mirror, the bright lights from above bearing down one me.

Perfect.

And without further ado, it was breakfast time.

You might be wondering what it's like to have Piper as head counselor. To be honest, it's not that bad. Really, she reminded me of Silena.

But I was Drew Tananka. And we'd had more than a little spat over Jason since she'd arrived at camp last year. We regarded each other with cold looks across the table, her kaleidoscope eyes boring into me with a particular kind of scorn she reserved just for yours truly as she dug into her strawberries and cream oatmeal. I helped myself to my smoothie and toast, careful to not get butter on my shirt.

That's one of my social rules. Never ruin your clothes. You can simultaneously ruin your reputation if you do.

Harsh? Well, so is beauty.

Annabeth and Percy were both late for breakfast, and I briefly went over all the possible causes in my mind. There were, of course, both PG and explicit explanations to spread as rumors. And as much of a slut as I may be, I'm not so bad as to go into detail.

And then there was the most-likely-the-truth explanation. That either one of them had woken up in the middle of the night, again, with bad dreams. And trudged across camp to get to the other before climbing in bed with one another and falling asleep with their arms around each other, holding on so tight it seemed like they would never let go.

It's when I see things like that that I'm reminded that love can make and break hearts. Call it petty, but as a weapon it's ruthless. I mean, look at Helen and Paris. Their love started a war that killed thousands of people. And then you have the Hunters that pop in every once in awhile, chirping about how love is worthless and stupid.

Tell that to the history books, why don't you.

I cleared off my plate, sanitized my hands with Lacey's Bath and Body Works Candy Apple hand sanitizer, and was on my way back to the Cabin when I was stopped by a voice calling out my name.

Well. If it isn't Will Solace himself.

Ask anyone at camp, and they'll tell you that Will is hot. Maybe not as hot and selfless and reckless as Percy, or kind and concerned and handsome as Jason, or even as dark, mysterious and broody as Nico, but he's at that happy medium, and qualifies as serious eye candy. And he's musical.

But I don't care about _that_ part_._

"What?" I asked politely, giving him a small, suggestive smile, arching a manicured eyebrow. I stopped just short of the steps and glanced back, cocking a hip. Either this was reasonably serious, or he wanted hang later. And I was used to it being the latter. We had a sort of friends with benefits thing. Neither one of us was very good at talking, so it worked reasonably well, if you asked me.

The benefits are nice, in case you're wondering.

"Chiron wants to talk to you," he answered, shrugging. I un-cocked my hip and strode past him, not looking back to check if he smelled the air for the last traces of my signature Coach perfume left in my wake. I was too busy being curious. Chiron rarely ever talked to me. There was never much of a reason to, if you catch my drift. I didn't even attend the head counselor meetings anymore.

He was waiting on the porch of the Big House, seated at a table with a deck of cards, in wheelchair form. Probably waiting to beat Mr. D. in pinochle, yet again.

"Chiron?" I hurried up the steps, and he looked up from the deck he was shuffling. "Will said you wanted to talk to me."

"Ahhh, yes," he nodded, smiling a little. Was it just me, or did that smile hint at uneasiness? "Your father called, and wanted to talk to you. I think it was something about attending mortal high school this year."

**So, yeah, second chapter… I'll update my other stories soon, I just need to work through this stupid writer's block. It sucks, it really, REALLY does, trust me. Anyways, please do review, it would mean a lot. And thanks so much for reading! Love you all!**

**Xoxo-NotsoSugarQueen**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.: Okay, so yeah, I'm updating. And it hasn't been that long, honestly. There's not a ton to say, except for the fact that this is the first time in forever that I don't have Algebra II homework, and its absolutely heavenly. Like, no joke. Anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own PJO. It belongs to Rick Riordan, the author that pretty much earned a seat among the Olympians of literature. **

Two: Drew's Perspective

The air had been sucked out of my lungs, and my brain struggled to grasp the concept of what he had said.

Mortal high school.

_Mortal high school_.

As in, me, Drew Tananka, attending high school with normal teenagers that didn't have a drop of ichor in their veins. Doing homework and studying instead of spreading gossip and checking my reflection in the mirror at camp.

I inhaled sharply, and reached out for the back of a chair nearby to steady myself. Figures. I mean, the one time my important composer daddy wants to talk to me is about school and grades. Not about me personally. Nope. He could never call me up on video chat or Iris Message and ask how I was doing.

Not that I'd tell him the truth if he did. I mean, what kind of dad wants to hear about how his daughter is everything he never wanted her to be. I'm a failure, in his eyes. A quitter. And it's been so long since I thought about those times that I don't even believe it was a shared dream I had abandoned. By now, my brain has altered it and shaped it to my liking. Instead, I'm just a talentless girl who talks shit about everyone else around her, can do make-up like a pro, and knows exactly what to wear on every occasion.

Because that's every father's dream.

That was a joke, in case you weren't laughing.

I would lie through a fake smile that I've long since perfected, and he'd believe every word of it, eating my charmspeak up like it was pancakes at a Sunday breakfast. Even if it wasn't that I was doing things he would've approved of.

And of course, he'd never find out that sometimes I still listened to classical music when I fell asleep, my iPod's volume on low to avoid any of my siblings hearing it. For all I know, they think I'm listening to Justin Bieber.

Which I'm not, by the way. He's hot, but not hot enough for me.

Compared to Will Solace, he's passable.

When I finally jerk back into reality and out of my reverie, I realize that Chiron's been saying my name for a minute now, and getting no response whatsoever.

"What? Sorry, I didn't catch that," I apologized, not really meaning it. And he probably knows that I don't mean it too. Under normal circumstances, I might use some charmspeak, but right now I'm in such a state of shock that I don't care.

"I just asked if you were ready to Iris Message him, that's all," he said, his eyes kind. A little bubble, microscopic in size, of guilt bubbles up in my stomach, but in seconds, it's been popped and I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and smile.

"Yeah, that would be fabulous," I said. Chiron slides a drachma across his desk and I pick it up, heading down to the central green. Cabin Fourteen, the Iris Cabin, is admittedly gorgeous. Bright, but gorgeous all the same. It's made of some prism like material that gives of rays of color when the sun hits it, and the roof is snow white like the clouds. A gold plaque above the door reads: 14.

I knock impatiently, and before waiting for someone to answer, I step inside. To Hades with manners. Besides, everyone already knows I'm a bitch. And now is just one of those times were you can take advantage of acting like one, because no one expects you to act differently.

On the inside, there's rows of bunks in all different colors lining three of the walls. And on the fourth, there's four little chambers made of prisms that create rainbows in the wall, just for Iris Messages. Usually, you're supposed to have an Iris kid supervise you, but right now the cabin is empty.

Plus, I'm pretty sure I don't want anyone to be listening in on the conversation that's going to happen as soon as I toss the coin into one of the chambers.

I took a deep breath and gently throw the coin. It vanishes into one of the rainbows soundlessly, like slipping into a different dimension.

"Oh Iris, goddess of the rainbow, please accept my offering," I requested. "John Tananka, at 54June Avenue, Lakeville."

The mist shimmers, and an image the size of an old TV flickers into existence. It's my dad, at the table in our kitchen, eating some Thai leftovers, probably from last night. I can tell that they're from his favorite restaurant, the Red Dragon, just by looking at the boxes.

I clear my throat, silently telling myself that this isn't a big deal, and that my heart needs to stop pounding nervously in my chest. Anxiety is starting to sink in. And when the anxiety starts, the ADHD will kick in, and I won't be able to concentrate at all.

"Dad," I said loudly. His head jerked up abruptly, and his gaze flicked around the room before finding the IM.

"Drew," he says, his voice its usual calm deepness. "Chiron promised you would call."

"Yeah, he did. And it's not like you can expect otherwise, with the news I just got," I deadpan, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. And my heart winces a little inside, because rolling my eyes at my dad had become so second nature. There was a point in time, when I was younger and Dad was reluctant to let me go to camp, when we had been close. When I'd sit at his piano and watch him as he played with notes to try and see which ones fit together to form the tune he was looking for, to use in his newest piece.

But those days ended when I came to camp as a ten year old, when being with my dad and immersed in the music world had started to wear on me. That being a child prodigy and traveling was loosing its appeal, because once the shine of it all had worn off, the stress was eating away my love for playing.

In the end, it had left nothing but the bones, and my supposed talent, had starved on them.

When I arrived at camp, I was thrilled that for once, no one was asking me to memorize sheet music, clip my fingernails, or practice. I could be normal. Or what at least was normal for an Aphrodite girl. Which included wearing excessive amounts of make-up, throwing my image of appropriate dress out the window, and of course, spreading every rumor available and sinking my claws into whatever boy came my way.

"Look, I think it's a good idea," he began, but I cut him off.

"Good idea? What in Hades are you thinking, Dad? High school? I'm fine at camp. We've been over this dozens of times," I told him fiercely. I don't want to go to whatever school he wants to send me to. And I certainly do not want to go home.

"Drew, you've been at camp forever. I know you're fine there, but I never see you. And don't you miss the mortal world?" he pressed impatiently.

"I wasn't really under the impression that you _wanted_ to see me," I muttered spitefully. "And no, I don't miss the mortal world."

"Well, you don't have a choice, Drew. I'm the parent here, and I give the orders and make the decisions. You're coming back next week. You're already enrolled in Lakeville High. Just give it a chance. I'm not saying you have to love it. Just keep an open mind. That's all I'm asking," he said finally, after a brief pause.

"Fine." And with that, I slashed my acrylic nails through the IM, the image dissipating immediately. But in reality, I was anything but fine.

My life was officially over.

Hello, mortal high school.

They'd better hope they're ready for Drew Tananka.

**Okay, that was the second chapter. So, yeah, everyone's least favorite bitch will be shipped off to live in the mortal world with her dad. Any guesses as to what she was like before she became a walking talking Barbie doll? I'm not telling, so you'll have to wait and see. Anyways, please review, follow, favorite and whatnot, and if you have any constructive criticism, don't be shy. Writing can always use work, and I'd like to get some opinions, since I'm not used to writing from a mean girl's point of view. Thanks so much for reading! Love you all!**

**Xoxo-NotsoSugarQueen**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.: So I was in the mood to write a from a bitch's point of view today. I started working on the next chapter of ****What to Expect When You're Expecting: Demigod Edition****, but then I stopped because I wasn't really feeling the vibes. Screw writer's block. But the bigger news is… I FINISHED READING HOUSE OF HADES! It was SO, SO AMAZINGLY GOOD! Thank god Uncle Rick didn't kill Percy and Annabeth, because if he had, there would have been riots in the streets, no joke. I would be at the head, screaming and waving signs. So hopefully, he knows not to ever kill my favorite couple. And as for Leo and Calypso… I thought that was interesting, and I NEVER saw it coming. Like, ever. Maybe I'll do a fanfiction on the pairing in a little while. But I do really like Leyna, so, that's kind of conflicting. And Nico being gay? I just can't picture him like that. Not that there's anything wrong with it or anything, but I always pictured him like, in love with Thalia or Reyna or something obscure and unrequited. Not that this isn't unrequited and obscure, but I think you get my point. And if you haven't finished it yet…. KEEP ON READING AND FINISH IT FASTER! Anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No, PJO belongs to Uncle Rick. Only he could make it as amazing as it is. **

Three: Drew's Perspective

I stepped into the airport, not in the least bit relieved to be back in Jersey. It hadn't been a long flight, but the closer I'd gotten to seeing my dad, the more tense and irritable and bitchy I'd become. I was fairly certain the flight attendant was convinced I was some sort of spoiled rich girl. But I ignored it.

Carefully, my eyes surveyed the crowd of seats for my dad in the terminal. Not that I was all that eager to see him. I just wasn't eager to haul my three Louis Vuitton suitcases home all by myself.

I didn't restrain myself from sighing when I spotted him. He was lounging in one of the chairs near the window, his black slacks and gray button up neatly pressed and wrinkle free. His hair was it's normal dark black, his eyes the achingly familiar chocolate brown that I saw every time I looked in the mirror. Of course, he was Indonesian, with deeply tanned, smooth complexion and strong brows. He sat up tall and strong, his very presence demanding, dragging my mind back to the times he'd drilled me hour after hour, until my butt fell asleep on the wooden piano bench. I glanced down at myself. My make-up was done flawlessly, and the clothes I was wearing would probably make him wince. Which, of course, was the whole point. I was dressed in an ensemble of my favorite skin tight DKNY dark wash jeans with the studded pockets across the ass, an ember colored cashmere sweater that clung to my waist, exposed a slice of tanned stomach, and plunged at the neckline, and my favorite killer stiletto black ankle boots. I'm pretty sure the only reason Chiron let me bring them to camp was because they could certainly be counted as a lethal weapon. You never knew when you'd have to poke some monster's eye out.

Not that I wanted any business in poking eyes out, that is.

My heels clicked against the floor as I approached his seat. He looked up as I got closer, and a smile stretched across his face, a brief flash of disapproval in his eyes when he spotted my sweater. Shame it was my favorite. I doubted was really a genuine greeting. I didn't return the gesture.

"Drew," he said, standing up. "It's so nice to see you."

I pursed my lips and raised a manicured eyebrow skeptically. "The pleasure is all mine," I remarked drily. "Dad."

The smile weakened when hit with my cold resolve, and he nodded back, clearing his throat. "Well, let's go grab your luggage at the baggage claim."

I reluctantly followed him past the terminals, weaving through the crowd of harried travelers and airport officials. The bright colors and languages that passed me by led to the restless tingle of my ADHD acting up spreading through my body, causing my eyes to flick here and there. I wrestled with the urge to forget my anger towards my dad, and soon enough, it was stomped out, shoved to the back of my mind. After all, I'd had a lot of practice. You can't do your make-up as well as I do mine if you're easily distracted, let me tell you.

The baggage claim was packed with people talking in annoying Jersey accents, and I wrinkled my nose. I'd grown so accustomed to New Yorkers and Bostonians and Southerners that my hometown language sounded foreign and obnoxious to my ears. I wondered how people would react if I told them to, pretty please, shut the hell up in French. With charmspeak, they'd probably oblige with nothing more than a few wary glances cast my way. Without it… there would most likely be catfights. I mean, this is New Jersey. We get all kinds of people and drama here.

And don't lie and say that you don't know. I mean, come on, we all know everyone knows what Jerseylicious and Jersey Shore are.

Who says demigods don't watch TV again?

My Louis Vuitton's came round the bend and I motioned towards them. My Dad gave me a look before his resolve crumbled and he grudgingly grabbed them off the conveyor. I dragged one, while he dragged two. Of course, I stuck him with the bigger ones. Because I am a bitch, first and foremost, before I'm anyone's daughter.

Well, except Aphrodite's. I guess that the bitch part kind of comes with the territory, for the most part. Unless you're Piper McLean or Silena Beauregard. But that wasn't cracking the mold. That was breaking it entirely.

I could've broken the mold.

The million-drachma question was: do I wish I'd broken the mold?

Kept up with piano, not gotten sucked into the glitter and glamour of designer clothes, and kept my mouth clean of the trashy gossip it spread? Gotten good grades, and maybe been the daughter that would make Mom look twice at me?

Now, let's not ask silly questions. All this nostalgia and deep thinking is going to make me break out.

The ride back to Dad's apartment was silent.

Just the way I liked it between me and my dear Daddy.

After my luggage was hauled up the elevator and into my father's suite, I dragged it with me into my room. Or rather, the space that had been closed off and undecorated, permanently reserved as Drew's Room. I'm pretty positive the door hasn't been opened since he bought the apartment. Which was right after I'd moved to camp, permanently. After I'd told him I was done with performing and competing, and more importantly, _him_.

I guess parental issues were part of being a demigod. I mean, we all kind of harbor that anger and abandonment towards our godly parent before we know that we're halfbloods, and our missing parent is actually living out their immortal life on Olympus, and can't really pop in all to frequently thanks to ancient laws. And then, if you're really unlucky, you're like Thalia Grace, whose mom hated her, or maybe your mortal parent had remarried, and their new spouse was a complete pain in your ass. Or, if of the Fates were in a bad mood when they were spinning your life, you're like Leo Valdez, or the Stoll brothers, or countless others, and your mortal parent is dead.

Where do I fit in, exactly? Well, my dad is very much alive. And single, living out the bachelor life quite comfortably. In fact, that was one of the reasons why I'd moved to camp in the first place. He'd always tow around all these phony beautiful women who all wore the same fake, sympathetic smile when they looked at me, trying to convince me that they really cared. Little did they know, I could see right through them. I used to promise myself that I'd never be like them.

Funny how life works out, isn't it?

The room was blank, with a simple full bed with a white comforter and blinds hanging over the windows. I wrinkled my nose. That was going to have to change. Luckily for me, there was such thing as online shopping, and I was quite the professional. Because there was no way in Hades that I was taking a trip to IKEA with my dad, even if he had the time, which he probably didn't. He was probably going to be composing and directing some twenty something symphonies or whatever, and wouldn't have time.

Which really, is where we find the heart of the reason why I didn't want to come back and live with him for a year. Because even if he wanted to spend time with me, he didn't have time to spend with me. I would end up partying and wasting away the year, doing anything to piss him off, just so I could get shipped off back to camp. Whatever it took, I would do it. I'm Drew Tananka. When people put things past me is when they screw themselves over.

My dad had a habit of doing that. I wasn't that picture perfect prodigy of a daughter that he'd always wanted. And I didn't want to waste time pretending otherwise. Which led to his several rude reminders.

I sorted through my clothes and pulled out my silky nightie that I liked best. It still smelled like Cabin Ten, which was basically saying it still smelled like various designer perfumes. But to me, it smelled like home. I pulled it on, discarding my sweater and jeans on the floor, and after brushing my pearly whites, climbed into bed underneath the white comforter, trying not to think about the fact that I was starting school for the first time in six years in two days.

**So, that was chapter three. I hope you enjoyed it. It took me a chunk of time to write since I kept getting sidetracked with background music, but I did it. Review, please, please, PLEASE, because I'd love to know what you think. I'm getting used to writing as a mean girl. It's actually kind of fun. And don't worry, her first day of high school will be spectacular in ways you'd never expect. Romance and drama are coming, I promise. Love you all!**

**Xoxo-NotsoSugarQueen**


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